


Fae and Ravens

by Firegirl210



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3392258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firegirl210/pseuds/Firegirl210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Maleval Drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Acquisition of Wings

 

* * *

 

Disclaimer: Neither of these beautiful babies are mine.

* * *

 

The horrible shrieking travels for miles.

A small black bird, caught in the net of a farmer. An angry dog, hungry for feathers and flesh. A silent watcher.

Death, coming swift, in the form of the blunt handle of a farmer’s axe. Blind panic, fear, desperate to escape, to fly, fly, fly, fly--

“Into a man.”

Struggling, limbs stretching, squawks fading into coughs and garbled panting. Curious dark eyes that sharpen with intelligence. The farmer flees, screaming of Demons.

The Watcher approaches. She looks at the Bird, and the Bird looks back.

“What have you done to my beautiful self?” he asks suspiciously. The speech feels thick on his human tongue, but smooth compared to the harsh language of the Raven. He has no feathers, no wings, and feels horribly tethered to the ground. The Watcher raises a delicate eyebrow. Her lips are red, her eyes starlight.

“Would you rather I let them beat you to death?”

The bird looks at his awkward, gangly body. No tail, no beak to speak of, strange sight and sounds and smells. Nothing like a Raven.   
“I’m not certain,” he retorts, eyes narrowing.

“Stop complaining,” chides the Watcher, “I saved your life.”

The Raven falls silent. The Watcher speaks truth, and her words fall on his human ears like river water; cool, clear, musical. Cold. He drops his eyes from her elfish face, ashamed.

“Forgive me.”

The Watcher observes her creation, seemingly pleased. “What do I call you?”

“Diaval!” It sounds alien in the human tongue, but not unpleasant. He bows his head, hops nervously. “And in return for saving my life, I am your servant.”

Ravens are nothing if not creatures of honor, and this Raven is among the most honorable of his breed. He bobs respectfully, and she stares back at him with a strange pain in her eyes, sharp like ice and twice as frigid.

“Wings. I need you to be my wings.”

 

 

 


	2. I Sentence Thee Fairy Godmother

* * *

 

Disclaimer: You know the drill.

* * *

 

I can feel Diaval’s dark eyes on me as we trek back through the wall of thorns, but he says nothing. He never says anything, even when he has something to say.

“What?” I demand at last, unable to bear his heavy silence, and he hops anxiously.

“So you’re going to go along with it then?”

“Along with what?”

“Fairy Godmother?” He says it a bit disbelievingly, and I toss him a disdainful look and continue my long stride, forcing him to hurry after me.

“And why not? Let the child think what she likes. She’ll find out the truth when the time comes.” That thought sends a spike of strange, deep pain through my chest. She’ll find out you’re a monster.

“Well I, for one,” Diaval says as he clambers after me up to the tree we’ve claimed as our own, “think it suits you.”

I stop suddenly, turning on him with narrowed eyes.

“I will turn you into a dung fly again if you spout nonsense,” I warn, and he holds up his pale, long fingered hands in surrender.

“It’s just--” he pauses, looking into my eyes in that way he has when he’s seeing something I can’t. He looks into my soul with those dark raven’s eyes and I turn away.

“She thinks highly of you,” he comments as I climb the spiraling staircase I have grown from the tree’s bark over the years to help a wingless Faerie into the tree.

“That is her folly, and none of my concern,” I grumble, dropping my staff at my bedside, and with a wave of my hand I change him back to his sleek black self.

“Now go to sleep and cease your heckling.”

~

“I can’t understand why you can cover me with river slime using your magic but not clean me off afterwards!”

I arch an eyebrow at Diaval’s complaining as he pulls his black coat off, tossing his black hair out of his eyes indignantly. He is proud as a bird in any form he takes, and as he is currently coated in muck is in a foul mood.

“You deserved it you feathered fool,” I inform him haughtily, drawing the wayward mud from my own face and neck with a coaxing of magic. He watches me with pouting lips and a furrowed brow.

“I can change you into a fish if you like. You can swim about in the water until you’re clean and--”

“No! No, I’m quite fine in my current form,” he protests hastily, backing away. He yanks off his boots and squirms out of his trousers, edging away from me modestly, although it isn’t as if he has anything I’ve never seen.

“I do hate human bathing, though,” he admits, testing the water with a cautious toe, and I glance away but gently nudge him in with a puff of golden mirth. He loses his balance and lands full-body in the cool water, coming up spluttering and gasping.

“You--You devil woman!” he shrieks, “Is it your game to torment me?”

“Oh stop your squawking, Diaval,” I chide, lifting him from the river and urging the water to separate from his skin and hair, leaving him dry on the riverbank. He scowls, brushing his now unkempt hair from his eyes and snatching his clothes.

“These too.”

I oblige with a wave of my hand, and he tugs them back on and slumps down beside me as the water sprites paint their bright patterns on the water upriver, laughing and giggling amongst themselves. Already I find myself missing the girlchild’s bright presence.

“She seemed to enjoy herself,” Diaval says, as if privy to my thoughts.

“Did she?” I feign ignorance, and he gives me a sardonic look.

“You live up to her name for you, Faerie Godmother,” he says teasingly, and I wave his comment away.

“I bear no ill will towards the child. She is curious, and I am foolish enough to believe she will do no harm here. That is all.”

He stands up, stretches, and offers me his hand.

“Whatever you say, Godmother.”

~

“Diaval?” I call as he makes his way down the Treestairs, attempting to do so in human form. He nearly stumbles off at my call.

“Yes Mistress?”

“I want you to take a day for yourself.” He falls off the tree in earnest and comes to kneel at my side, eyes glittering curiously like a bird’s.

“What? Why?”

I take his hand, stroking his silky hair. “You’re a devoted servant Diaval, and you’ve stayed by my side for many years without question or complaint. Do whatever you wish today, and return to me at nightfall.”

His confused expression reminds me of a dog who has been kicked without reason, although Diaval would loathe the comparison to a canine. “Have I done something wrong?”

I rest my forehead against his briefly. “No. Please do this for me, Diaval.”

He lifts my hand, kisses it gently and rises. “I’d like to spend my day off in my proper form, if you don’t mind,” he suggests in a too-cheery tone, but I know he will not question me further and I change him back to the sleek bird and watch him fly away into the bright sun. I rise, and turn to the thorn wall to retrieve the girlchild whose sixteenth year was far too nigh.

~

The grey Ajatar* rumbles happily as Aurora strokes its scaly head, hair golden in the sunshine. I watch, sharply aware of the absence of my shadow and of the heavy news I must bestow upon the princess. She seems so happy, but I have prepared myself for this day. It has to be now, or her birthday will dawn before I have a chance to speak.

“Aurora,” I call, “come here,” and she hurries over, bringing with her the scent of honeysuckle and roses.

“Sit,” I ask, and she does. Her face glows with youth and beauty and her hair is adorned with wildflowers from the Moorfolk who are as enamored with her as the humans will be. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She looks curious, but not afraid. “What is it?”

I have practiced how to say this, how to tell her of my mistake. The words sound false now as they leave my lips.

“There is an evil in this world...and I cannot keep you from it.”

She visibly relaxes, as if this were the least of her fears. “I’m almost sixteen, Godmother. I can take care of myself.”

What carefree folly, what foolish youth! But she does not know any better. “I understand,” I concede, struggling to make her understand, “but that’s not what I have to tell”

“I have a plan,” she interjects, “When I’m older, I’m going to live here in the Moors with you! Then we can look after each other.”

I allow myself to imagine such a life, careless and peaceful, frolicking with the Moorfolk and picking sweet smelling bouquets, just me and Diaval and Aurora. I look at the hopeful shining face of the girlchild I cursed, and tell myself sternly I cannot be responsible for dousing those hopes.

“You don’t have to wait until you’re older. You could live here now,” I tell her softly, conspiratorially, as if it is our little secret, as if I can protect her from the evil I placed in her path, and her smile is more blinding than the sun.

“Then I will!” She declares, standing up and brushing past, the air she displaces tasting of summertime. “I’ll sleep in a tree, and eat berries and black nuts--and all the Fair People will be my friends! I’ll be happy here for the rest of my life.”

She turns back to me, and she must see something in my eyes, because she quiets her buzzing energy, shies nervously like a skittish horse.

“I’m going to tell my Aunties tomorrow.”

I smile weakly. “Until tomorrow.”

~

I gaze at the sun setting behind the mountains in a blaze of color and fire, and a dark shape lands on the branch beside me. Diaval hops closer, and I smile, stroking his sleek feathers. He flutters agitatedly, and I change him with a snap into a man sitting unsteadily on the branch. He clutches a hold, and looks at me questioningly.

“How was your day off?” I ask, and realization dawns in his eyes as the sun dies.

“You told her?”

I sigh into the fresh night.

“No, Diaval. I am even weaker than we thought.”

And far too invested in the title Godmother.

~

“Godmother! Godmother!”

Her cries are desperate, ringing through the Moors. I find her easily, not that I am ever far away. She stops in front of me, her eyes are red and her cheeks glisten with tears.

“When were you going to tell me I’m cursed?” she accuses, but not yet quite the accusation I fear most. “Is it true?” And yet still she hopes. She dares to hope that she is wrong, that I am not an evil, wicked thing who has lied to her all her life. I cannot lie any longer.

“It is.”

She chokes for breath, not believing. “My Aunties said it was an evil Faery. But I can’t remember her name…” she looks at me, looks away, wondering if I will help her, hoping that I won’t.

I do.

“Maleficent.”

The name sounds sudden and jolting in the windy air, but I speak it with power and she knows. She stares at me, lip trembling. I have nothing to say. I cannot keep her from this evil.

“Is that you?” she whimpers, “are you Maleficent?”

I take a step towards her, suddenly overcome with the thought that I can change this, I can keep her in the moors, away from harm if only she will let me--

“No!” she cries, voice hoarse with betrayal, “Don’t touch me!”

We gaze across the vast space between us, and my heart splinters like a falling tree.

“You’re the evil that is in this world.”

_Fairy Godmother Fairy Godmother Fairy Godmother--_

Maleficent.

 

 


	3. A Leap of Faith

* * *

 

Disclaimer: This chapter contains Mal, Diaval, Aurora, and Philip, none of whom are mine.

* * *

 

The boy faded into the distant trees, leaving Aurora breathless and fluttery, her cheeks tinged a light pink. One of the silent watchers in the trees turned to his Mistress, hopping up and down on the branch excitedly. When the horned Faerie failed to acknowledge him he flew at her, buzzing her with his wings. She ducked away.

“Stop doing that,” she reprimanded, but he did it again, squawking, unable to form the human words he needed with a raven’s beak. She snapped her fingers, looking annoyed, and he materialized into human form, moving to her side urgently. He looked at the boy, then back at Maleficent. She had the same poised, detached look as always, and seemed not to share his enthusiasm.

“Well?” he asked breathlessly, nodding after the prince. She looked at him as if she did not follow. “That boy could be the answer!”

She laughed derisively. “No, Diaval,” she said as if he were a child, as if he were a fool. He felt anger and confusion warring in his human heart for dominance.

“Yes,” he argued, “True Love’s Kiss, remember, it can break the spell!”

“True Love’s Kiss?” He nodded. “Have you not worked it out yet?” She looked at him with cold eyes, and his stomach knotted in dismay.

“I cursed her that way because there is no such thing.” Her voice dripped venom, acid, and he wanted to reach out to her but feared her thorns.

“Well that might be how you feel, but what about Aurora?” He refused to give up hope so easily. Not on Aurora, the beautiful baby girl they had watched grow into a young woman. Not their goddaughter. “That boy could be our only chance.”

She turned to him with fire in her eyes, and he felt a hedge of thorny spite lash out with his tongue. “It’s her fate, anyway.” Not yours was implied, and she looked at him sharply. He would have tensed, waiting for the dissolving feeling, the smoke and the new body. But not this time.

“Go ahead, turn me into whatever you want. A bird, a worm.” He searched her eyes for the warmth he knew they could possess, but found none. “I don’t care anymore.”

He walked away, wishing that once, just once, she would take a leap of faith.

But he knew it would take more than Faith to make Maleficent believe in love.

 

 

 


	4. A House Makes Not a Home

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Disclaimer: Only Hometree is mine. 

* * *

 

Maleficent gazed up at the mighty oak tree that had been her home since she was small. She could no longer climb into its comforting embrace, and tried not to think about the pain that throbbed in the middle of her back whenever she thought about it.

She and the raven she had saved from a farmer had slept on the forest floor the nights before, and she awoke damp and irritable. The raven, Diaval, was in a similar mood, and was seriously questioning his decision to swear his servitude to a vengeful and seemingly homeless Faerie. She trekked through the woods without a word to him, stopping and gazing into the distance at odd intervals. She also seemed to be in pain, and leaned heavily on the walking stick of sturdy hawthorne she carried with her.

The two of them stood in the shade of the old Oak in silence, a Faerie and a Raven thrown together by fate.

“We should sleep here tonight,” she said aloud, and Diaval hopped along the branch he was inhabiting, closer to her great, curved horns. He chirruped and squawked, lacking a human mouth to communicate. She caught his intention to speak and waved a hand, and he dissolved in a cloud of tingling smoke and caught himself unsteadily on human legs. He wasn’t used to that yet.

“If I may, Mistress--shouldn’t we choose a more, ah...stationary sleeping place?”

She surveyed him icily, and he bit his lip, a habit that was already growing on him. “I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve built some of the best nests in all the Moors. It shouldn’t be any different building one a bit larger.”

She raised an eyebrow. Did this silly bird really think he could build them a nest large enough for a Faerie? She would like to sleep in a tree again...

“You’ll need help,” she decided, and he was taken aback at her willingness before he beamed.

“With your magic and all, it ought to be quick work!”

It wasn’t quick in the usual sense of the word. Maleficent soon got fed up with Diaval’s birdlike attempts and took charge, instructing him to retrieve various lengths of twigs, grass, and the soft moss that grew on riverbanks. He alighted in the tree, but was of little use on his own. His awkward human hands were handy, but hard to get used to.

“Maybe if you used a little magic,” he suggested, balancing precariously on one of the branches, “we could get stairs or something for you.” It came out a bit more mocking than he had intended, and he clapped his hands over his mouth. She glanced at him with frigid green eyes, but went to the tree that had grown beneath her weight, running her pale hands across its bark.

“Old friend,” she murmured, leaning her forehead against the rough skin of the Oak, “I want to call you home again. Help me walk between your branches once more.”

The tree creaked and moaned, and a series of protrusions bulged outwards, leading up to the bowl shaped bow of the branches. She ascended, her hands trailing gold, and stepped lightly into the oak’s embrace. Diaval smiled, awestruck by both the power in her and by the breathtaking sight of her using it. She cast her eyes on him and looked around, her haughty distance resumed.

“Well, the dip in those branches is the perfect place for a good bird-sized nest,” she said, indicating a place higher up the tree, and Diaval nodded, admitting that he’d been daunted by the issue of the massive nest.

“What about you, Mistress?” He asked, glancing around at the bare tree branches. She gestured at the piles of river moss and grass that had been collected and laid it out in the crook of the branches, forming a soft padding and a pillow of grass. She paused; normally, she would sleep with her wings curled around her, and had no need of any other covering. But now, she had to consider the cold.

“Diaval, go to the river sprites and ask for streamweed. As much as you can carry,” she instructed, and he clambered down precariously before heading for the river to do her bidding. She turned and set about arranging some of the larger branches Diaval had collected into a sort of siding to keep her bedding in, and the result was something of a nest-shape. She shook her head; living in a nest with a bird-man.

“I’ve got it, Mistress!” Diaval came stumbling into the clearing dripping wet and covered in streamweed, and she rolled her eyes.

How had she come to this?

~

Maleficent gestured at the brush surrounding her Hometree and ascended the stairway, having spent the day watching the Pixies struggle to keep the girlchild alive. She was nearly a year old now and growing faster than Maleficent thought normal for human babies. Maybe she was wrong. She didn’t care anyway.

Diaval had felt ill that morning, the little pest, and stayed home, and as Maleficent entered the enfoliaged room they had fashioned from leaves and branches, she stopped short in surprise.

The previously bare nest room had been piled with soft mosses, flower-stuffed pillows, a blanket woven of what glittered like unicorn hair. Her arrival had startled the dark figure responsible from where he had been hanging something from the roof, and he toppled off the small wooden table they had brought in weeks ago head over heel to the floor.

“Diaval! What is this?” she demanded, not sure how to sort out the feelings she was having in response to this gesture. The Raven picked himself up, brushing his dark frock and grinning breathlessly. Was he blushing?

“You said the other day that this place was looking a little bare. I just thought--I mean, it’s probably my raven instincts getting the better of me. I wanted to make the nest feel...homier.”

He was definitely blushing, and she looked around, noting the care with which the renovations had been completed. The blanket alone must have taken weeks, so she suspected this little home improvement project wasn’t a spur of the moment action. He looked down, nudging his bare foot against a new layer of moss in the sleeping area.

“It’s too much. I’m sorry, Maleficent, I just--”

“What were you doing up there?” she asked, indicating to the place atop the table she had startled him from. He looked up, and his eyes lit up with an inner light of excitement and mischief.

“Close your eyes.”

She raised an eyebrow at the raven, but he motioned again and she sighed, covering her eyes with her hands. He did something, making more of a racket than she thought necessary, but then he gently took her hands and unveiled her eyes.

The walls and roof of the leaf shelter had been decorated with shining things; bright shells, shards of glass and crystal, bright beads, even some human jewelry. Through a window in the wall, a shaft of sunlight struck a prism and reflected around the room, alighting dozens of the shimmering objects and dancing around the space like a living thing. She couldn’t contain her surprise, and looked to her manservant with new eyes. His expression, quickly changed under her gaze, could only be described as adoring. He flushed, running a hand through his hair.

“It really is too much. I wanted to surprise you is all.”

She smiled slightly, and kissed his cheek.

“It’s lovely, Diaval.”

He looked startled, and she tapped one of the dangling crystals, sending sparks of gold dancing around the room. She looked back at him.

“Thank you.”

He smiled softly, his eyes the color of deepest night, but much warmer.

Maybe a home was made less by the space and more by those who inhabited it.


	5. My Fight

* * *

 

Disclaimer: None of these are mine: if they were this scene in the movie would have gone quite differently.

* * *

As soon as I had two legs again I felt them start to tremble as a knot settled in my human stomach. The Palace was completely deserted outside, a dark fortress waiting in wait like a great black maw.

“They’ve pulled the guards,” I pointed out nervously, “He’s waiting for you in there.”

Maleficent's eyes glowed with venomous green fire. She was furious, dangerous, desperate. Terrifying, powerful. And beautiful.  

“If we go in those walls, you’ll never come out alive,” I said softly, wishing I could beg her not to go, knowing she would do so anyway.

“Then don’t come.”

Her retort was sharp and stung like nettles, and she glanced at me with words that numbed my bones and ignited a fire in my chest.

“It’s not your fight.”

She moved to enter, and I grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop. She looked startled at my forwardness and more so at the ferocity she must have seen in my eyes.

“Don’t start that! Don’t you dare!” I hissed, not sure if I was angry or hurt or both. “You know damn well that this has been my fight from the very start. I’m not letting you go in alone.”

“You are released from my servitude!” she ordered, slamming her staff down, and I stood my ground, puffing up like a threatened bird.

“I’m not leaving you, Maleficent!” I shouted, “You’ll kill yourself in there!”

“Then let me die!” She sounded broken, the cool exterior of control and hatred she had used to shield herself from me all these years cracking open. “Let me do what I can to save her and should it come to pass, let me go from this world.” She placed her hands on my face, pressing her forehead to mine.

“You’ve served me well these years, Diaval. But I cannot ask you to follow me into certain death.”

I gripped her hands, willing my life energy to pass through my skin to hers, to give her my strength.

“Our little girl is inside--” My voice broke, and I cleared my throat. “Aurora needs us. She means the world to me too. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.”

And you mean more to me than the world or anything in it.

Maleficent released me, but I caught her hand and stopped her one last time. Our eyes met, and I felt my heart skip a beat.

“If we live through this, I have to tell you--”

“We must hurry, Diaval,” she interrupted, and I tightened my hold on her.

“Remind me later.”

With the prince floating behind us, we made our way into the castle and, almost certainly, towards our death.

 


End file.
